Good Morning!
by HedgehogJawn
Summary: A haphazard series of one-shots about mornings in the lives of various characters. Currently on hiatus, but will be back to writing as soon!
1. Hop on Pop

"Your father's going to be late for work again." Ginny told Lily, spooning applesauce into the toddler's mouth. Lily giggled, as if in response, and allowed the applesauce to dribble down her chin.

"Is Dad still sleeping?" asked James.

"Yes."

"Can we wake him up?"

Ginny paused thoughtfully. Harry did need to get up—and soon. But she wasn't sure a four-year old and a six-year-old were the right men for the job. Eventually, her frustration got the better of her, and, knowing what she was condemning her husband to, she said, "Go ahead."

James's face lit up. "Come 'on, Al, let's go jump on Daddy!"

Harry had been curled up beneath the covers, blissfully unaware, when something heavy landed on his chest and woke him with a start.

"Good Morning, Daddy!" James howled. Harry groaned.

"Mummy says you have to get up now." Albus giggled, attacking Harry's feet while James tried to use his stomach as a trampoline.

"Ow—Ah—James—" Harry stuttered. "James, you're hurting Daddy's tummy!"

"Well, come _on_, then!" James whined, grabbing Harry's hand and trying to drag him out of bed. Harry groped blindly around the nightstand in search of his glasses, but only succeeded in knocking them to the ground. At that moment, Harry lost his balance and James managed to pull him to the ground. He hit the floor with a thump and a sickening _crunch!. _Harry stood up, dusted himself off, and pointed his wand in what he hoped was the general direction of the flattened glasses.

"Reparo!" He said, then put the glasses on. For the first time that morning, Harry got a clear view of his two sons—James, grinning toothlessly, his dark hair tousled; and Albus, with pictures of broomsticks on his pajamas, looking up eagerly with eyes like his grandmother's—and forgot to be angry.

"Good morning, dear." Said Ginny as Harry entered the kitchen. She sipped her coffee casually. Harry rolled his eyes.


	2. Shh! Don't Wake Remus!

"He had a rough time last night, didn't he?" Sirius murmured. James nodded. They stared down at poor Remus, sprawled out on his bed, bleeding from his elbow and breathing heavily. The morning after the full moon was always hard.

"Is Wormtail awake?"

"Not yet." Said James. He walked across the dormitory and shook Peter's shoulder. "Pete!" he whispered. "Pete, It's time to get up!"

"No it isn't" moaned the lump of blankets that was Peter. James clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh! You'll wake Remus!"

"How come he gets to sleep in?" Peter mumbled, but James's fingers were still in the way, so it came out more like "'Ow hum 'e guffs oo 'eep un?"

"Because _we_ weren't _supposed_ to be up until two in the morning!" Sirius hissed. "Moony had no choice."

No one said another word. All three dressed in silence, flinching at small noises and glancing over to check that Remus was still sleeping. Quiet was a rare and precious thing among the Marauders.

They tiptoed down the staircase for breakfast, all yawning after sleeping a total of only three hours. They had a long, exhausting day ahead of them, but they told themselves it could always be worse. They could be Moony.


	3. Storytime

A rumble of thunder woke Hugo Weasley with a start. He rolled over and peered across the room at his sister.

"Rosie!" he whispered. "Rosie, did you hear that?" A soft snore answered him.

The noise came again, this time accompanied by a jet of light that lit up the dark window. Heart pounding, he crawled out of bed, dragging his stuffed dragon behind him. He stood on tiptoe to reach the doorknob, turned it, and emerged into the hallway, noticing that a light was on in the kitchen.

Hermione had always been an early riser. Every morning, when everyone else was asleep, she would creep into the kitchen, trying not to disturb a snoring Ron, and make herself a cup of tea. She enjoyed the quiet solitude of those hours, when the sky was just beginning to lighten. But this morning was different—She heard the distinct sound of sock-feet on hardwood floor, and turned to see a frightened little face peeking around the threshold.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Hermione called.

"The sky's makin' scarwey noises again." He said.

"It's okay, Hugo" said Hermione, scooping him up. He buried his face into her robe. After a moment or two, she whispered, "Would a story make things better?" Hugo nodded.

She carried him to the living room and sat down on the couch beside the two cats (Crookshanks, who had grown quite inactive in his old age, and a white kitten that Hugo had dubbed "Babbity" after his favorite storybook character). She selected "Tales of Beetle the Bard" and "Cinderella" from the mess of books strewn around the coffee table, and offered them to him. "Which one do you want to read?"

Hugo pointed at Beetle the Bard. Hermione opened to "The Tale of Three Brothers" and began:

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to— Good morning Rosie…and Ron."

"Morning." Grumbled Ron, rubbing his eyes. "Rosie couldn't sleep." There was only a hint of resentment in the tired father's voice.

"Well, alright, we were just starting "The Tale of Three Brothers" Want to listen, Rose?"

Rose sat down beside them and Babbity crept onto her lap, hoping for an ear scratch. Their mother started again:

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight—"

"Grandmum always says 'midnight'" Rose protested. Hermione and Ron met each other's eyes and were suddenly consumed in a fit of giggles. They chortled uncontrollably for over a minute. Ron snorted something incomprehensible that sounded a bit like "Daddy's girl"

Hugo and Rose exchanged glances. Parents could be so _weird!_


	4. Nightmares

**A/N: I told myself I was going to work on "Like the Stars the Shine", but this happened instead. It's really kind of a crack fic, but I hope you like it.**

Draco was running. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure why he was running. He glanced behind him to see if something was chasing him, but the coast was clear. He turned back around and it suddenly occurred to him that he was hovering in midair. Predictably, it was at this realization that gravity kicked in, and he began to plummet to the ground.

Draco fell for what seemed like a very long time, then landed on the back of a dragon. The dragon lifted its head in a mighty roar, and took off, beating its enormous wings. Suddenly, Draco heard Pansy Parkinson's voice behind him.

"Draco, why haven't you been texting me!"

He turned around. "Pansy?"

"I've texted you, like, a ZILLION times, and you never answered!" She pouted, waving a muggle cell phone in his face.

"But Pansy, you're a witch. Why do you use that Muggle stuff?"

She ignored him. "You better text me back, or I'll tell Professor Snape what you've gotten hidden under your pillow!"

Draco gulped. "Y-You don't know what's under my pillow! Nobody knows that!"

"I have ways, Draco Malfoy. I know what's under your pillow, and whose picture is in the secret compartment in your trunk, and that your mom calls you "Drakey Wakey Poo".

"But—" And suddenly, Pansy was gone, and the dragon landed on something orange and sticky. Draco scrambled off its back, and his feet sunk a few centimeters into some orange goo.

Some wild impulse made Draco stick two fingers in the goo, then taste it. He was standing on an enormous Pumpkin Pasty!

Voldemort walked over and stood beside Draco. He scooped a handful of pasty from the ground, and rubbed it on his head. Soon, Voldemort had a full head of sticky orange hair. He then proceeded to stick a lump of goo to the place where his nose should be, if he had one. When it fell off, he grew very red in the face, and shouted:

"It's all your fault!" He shoved Draco to the ground and kicked him.

"Malfoy!" he said, still kicking. "Malfoy!"

Pansy reappeared, and began poking his face. "Malfoy!"

Draco groaned, sat up and punched both of them in the face, but their poking, kicking, and yelling continued.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!"

"Malfoy!" said Harry, jamming his foot into Draco's side. Draco opened his eyes. The Gryffindor Quidditch team stood before him, groggy and impatient. It was barely light out, another one of Oliver Wood's crack-of-dawn practices. Draco remembered now—he'd been out late last night, practicing, and must have collapsed in the middle of the pitch. Katie Bell and Fred Weasley were both nursing black eyes, from when Draco had hit them.

"Get off the pitch, Malfoy!" Wood snapped. Draco rubbed his eyes and stood up.

"Yeah, go away, DRAKEY WAKEY POO!" Harry taunted. Malfoy gasped and ran away.

So, all in all, it was not one of Draco's better mornings.

**P.S. This "morning" was a request from XiXi Scarlet. I don't think this is quite what they had in mind, but, at least I did something involving Draco…**

**Reviews are appreciated :)**


	5. Shadows

**A/N: Thanks for the well-wishes, everyone! My arm's healing fine, and I even "made nice" with that rascal pony who did it. I'm getting better at typing one-handed, so I thought I'd give this a try. I feel like I've been writing too much fluffy/silly/cute stuff lately, so I tried something new with this one—sorry if it's a bit depressing.**

It was a morning George Weasley would remember for the rest of his life, but what made it so haunting was not what he did, so much as what he didn't do.

For starters, he didn't go back to the Joke Shop the previous night, unable to face the memories lingering there. Lying in the top bunk of his old bed, he could stare at the familiar crack in the ceiling and pretend he was sixteen again, and any moment a fit of giggles was going to erupt from the bunk below. But tonight, nobody felt much like giggling.

George lay in bed, where he didn't sleep, and didn't wake up to a finger jabbing his face. Then he didn't put on a sweater with a "G" (nor one with an "F", for that matter), choosing a plain blue one instead.

George didn't take the long way downstairs to slip something gross under Ginny's door, and didn't find Ron already devouring breakfast when he reached the landing. He didn't read the Prophet, though Errol had left it on the table, and sank into an armchair, staring vacantly. There was no sadness yet, that would come later, only shock and a deep emptiness that threatened to engulf him.

So George didn't see another face until nearly an hour later, despite the fact that the house was full—Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny were all somewhere upstairs. Perhaps, like George, they were waiting for the period of numbness to end before they tried to face what had happened. Every one of them had cried about it yesterday, but when the tears stopped falling all that was left was emptiness.

Of course, it was a blow to everyone, but nobody was hit quite as hard as George. It was like waking up one morning without your shadow. Shadows aren't supposed to leave you, ever. They may fade at night, but in the morning, they're always supposed to come back. The sun was rising now, but Fred hadn't come back. And George knew he never would.

So George didn't slip a canary cream into Mr. Weasley's tea while Mrs. Weasley was out of the room, or leave a spider on Ron's chair. He didn't say a word for several hours.

He didn't acknowledge Mrs. Weasley when she crept downstairs and saw him sitting there, and he didn't meet her eyes when she sat down beside him.

But what he did do was wrap his arms around her, and suddenly the tears came again, streaming down his face, hot on his cheeks. His breath came in ragged gasps that made his shoulders quiver

"I miss him, Mum," George whispered between sobs. She was crying too, and they sat there holding each other for what seemed like forever, because what more was there to say?


End file.
